


Secret-Keeper

by lazyDaysie



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen, Libra as camp therapist, Major Story Spoilers, Self-Harm, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, contains mentions of various other characters, everyone dump your insecurities and secrets on Libra, listen Libra is so good, speculation about Robin's mom, the therapeutic properties of tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 08:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20672303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyDaysie/pseuds/lazyDaysie
Summary: It’s a well-known fact that Libra opens his tent to those who wish to talk for a few hours after sunset.  One night, he receives a most unexpected visitor with a terrible secret to confide.





	Secret-Keeper

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this immediately after finishing the game for the first time, and then did nothing with it. A couple friends convinced me it was good enough to post, though. Enjoy!

Libra is a secret-keeper.

None of them are _his_ secrets (well, maybe a few). Something about him—whether his gentle nature, his profession, or his utter lack of judgement—makes people trust him, enough to tell him the darkest parts of their hearts. As such, it’s a well-known fact that Libra opens his tent to those who wish to talk for a few hours after sunset.

“I love a married man,” said Cordelia one night, fingers twisting in her long red hair.

Libra rarely offers words to his visitors—though at least a few cups of tea or spirits are drunk—and he lets them pour out their hearts to him. Though Cordelia never revealed the name of her unrequited love, Libra managed to piece it together on his own; there are few enough married men in their camp, fewer still to whom Cordelia speaks. Still, he keeps her confidence as he might a precious keepsake, for trust is a rare thing indeed.

“I just can’t seem to connect,” Kellam confided, a mug of mead in his hands.

“I did not always have this… _fear_,” Lon’qu grumbled, sharpening his sword as he spoke.

“I just wish I weren’t so _clumsy_!” Sumia exclaimed, nearly knocking over the tea at her elbow in her frustration.

“I-I can’t stand… their eyes on me…” Olivia stuttered into her lap.

“I hate being treated like some dumb kid!” Ricken shouted.

“Sometimes I think no one will ever respect me, no matter how good I am, just because I’m a woman,” Sully said with an uncharacteristic shrug of defeat.

Eventually, “visiting Libra” became code for “venting to Libra”, because he would never judge, he would never betray privacy, and he would never use secrets against those who trusted him enough to share them.

One night, Libra receives a most unexpected visitor indeed.

Mere minutes after Donnel leaves—having unloaded his worries of not being good enough for the Shepherds—there’s a tentative shuffling and the clearing of a throat outside his tent flap. Libra smiles; he knows the sounds of a first-time visitor.

“Come in,” he calls, already in the act of preparing a fresh pot of tea.

A moment of hesitation, and the tent opens to admit one very nervous tactician.

Libra’s smile widens. “Good evening, Robin,” he says. “May Naga ever light your way.”

Robin gives a somewhat forced chuckle. “You too,” the tactician says, not really looking at Libra. Libra almost gives in to the temptation to frown; the ones who won’t look at him even from the start have the darkest things to say.

“Have a seat,” Libra invites. “Would you like some tea? I was just brewing one of my favorite blends.”

Robin nods, sitting in the chair across from Libra’s usual seat. “That’d be good, thanks.”

The tactician is silent until Libra hands over a steaming mug, for which he gets a ‘thanks’ so soft, it might not have even existed.

“You are most welcome, my friend,” Libra says, settling into his chair with his own tea. He will not pressure the tactician into speaking; Robin will speak if words are needed, but perhaps Libra only needs to provide company. It would hardly be the first time. Sometimes, Chrom enters his tent just to enjoy the feeling of no one expecting anything of him, though the Ylissean prince often fills the quiet with inane chatter until his mind is eased.

Robin’s eyes remain on the tea as it slowly cools, not drinking even a drop. Libra can’t help but notice the tactician’s stiff posture, the tight jaw, the white fingers wrapped around the mug of tea. Libra begins to think that perhaps Robin won’t share with him after all.

“I want to kill myself.”

It is so quiet, so broken, that at first, Libra isn’t sure he heard correctly. Then, he hopes to Naga that he didn’t. He disguises the alarm he feels rising in his chest, leaning forward a bit in his chair. He doesn’t press for more.

Robin provides it anyway. “I mean… surely everyone would be better off, right? No one would have to deal with my screwups, my lost memories…” The tactician looks at Grima’s mark on the scarred, pale flesh of the ungloved hand resting on the armrest. “…my fate…”

Libra takes a measured sip of his tea.

“I just…” In a flurry of motion, the sleeves of the tactician’s coat are rolled up to reveal snowy forearms decorated liberally with gashes in various stages of healing. “Sometimes I think, if I could just get this tainted blood out of me…” Robin shudders, curling up in the chair, face buried in knobby knees. “But I just feel worse than before.”

Libra crosses the few steps between them to kneel in front of his friend, resting a thin hand on the tactician’s shaking shoulder. He says nothing as Robin’s tear-reddened eyes snap to his, offering only understanding and empathy. The tactician lets out a strangled sob and, before Libra knows it, he’s being hugged, and there’s a growing wet spot on his shoulder. But Libra is nothing if not adaptable, so he rubs his hands soothingly up and down Robin’s back as the narrow frame is wracked with powerful sobs.

“There, there,” Libra murmurs into the tactician’s hair. “It’s all right, Robin. You are my friend, and nothing will change that.” Robin’s crying is disturbingly silent, even as Libra is moved with the force of it. “You are so strong, so brave to stay with us, to shoulder the burden of your fate.”

“It’s h-hard,” Robin choked, trying to swallow the tears. “I just… I wish I’d never woken up in that field, that Chrom never found me, and Grima…” Robin trails off. “V-Validar… my mother…”

“It’s all right,” Libra repeats, stroking the tactician’s back.

“I want…” the sobs cut off the words as Robin wrests control back. “I want… to find my mother…”

Libra nods. “I understand. She saved you from the Grimleal, didn’t she?” At Robin’s unsteady nod, he smiles. “Of course you want to find her; I’m sure that she is a wonderful woman.”

“E-even…” Robin fights to get the words out. “Even if she’s fellblood, too?”

“Robin, look at me.” Libra waits until their eyes meet to continue speaking. “Your mother rebelled against the Grimleal. She smuggled you away so you could grow up away from Validar’s influence. Wasn’t that brave of her? Wasn’t it good?”

Robin’s head bobs a few times, coming to rest on Libra’s shoulder again. Clearly, the tactician is exhausted, but Libra, for once, has something to say.

“Do you wish to know my thoughts?” Libra asks, his voice gentle as he can make it.

“Of c-course,” Robin falters.

Libra smiles, tightening his arms around the tactician. “I think you must be far more like your mother than your father. And, even if she has fell blood in her, her blood does not define her. Her actions prove her to be a brave and loving woman.” His smile widens, and he pats the tactician’s back. “Much like her child.”

Robin seems stunned. “…Thank you,” the tactician says after a moment.

“You are welcome, my friend,” Libra replies. “I am always happy to remind others of the truth.”

Robin laughs. Though it’s weary and subdued, it’s a wonderful sound, and Libra soon hears his own chuckles accompanying Robin’s. Even when the laughter stops, the good mood stays, and Libra can feel Robin relaxing.

They stay that way for some time; Libra doesn’t bother to keep track. All that matters is the worn out tactician in his arms. Eventually, Robin falls asleep, head still resting on Libra’s damp shoulder. He smiles at the soft snores in his ear and carefully transitions the over-worked tactician to his own bedroll.

That done, Libra steps back to look at his handiwork. Robin’s face is relaxed in sleep, lifting years from the pale tactician. That Robin trusts him enough, not only to share secrets, but to sleep in his tent is a little intoxicating, drawing a serene smile from the healer. Libra draws a blanket over his sleeping friend, pulls a curtain over his sleeping area, and begins the process of reheating the tea; another visitor could arrive at any moment, and it won’t do to serve cold tea.

**—Fin**

**Author's Note:**

> “I’ve been wondering something,” Chrom says.
> 
> Libra smiles pleasantly at the prince, slowly stirring his tea. “Yes?”
> 
> Chrom looks uncomfortable. “Well, I was just thinking… everyone tells you their secrets, right? So… who hears your secrets, Libra?”
> 
> Libra laughs, soft and musical. “I? I have no secrets,” he lies.
> 
> Chrom laughs with him, looking relieved. “I guess that shouldn’t surprise me; you are a man of the cloth, after all.”


End file.
